Back to Life
by DoomedSometimes
Summary: Her own son tried to kill her. In the aftermath, Alex is there for Norma. Set after 409.


Her hair is longer now. Longer than when I met her that night at her motel's porch. The only time I mentioned it to her, as an observation, she just said that she didn't want to go to the hair salon now. That was two months ago.

Sometimes I catch her in the bedroom sitting in front of her vanity trying different hair styles. Mostly she wears it in that updo thing where it looks kind of messy but also adorable. She used to wear it like that a lot back when we first met. I notice these things. I also noticed when she cut it short and dyed it blonde last year but I never said anything. We were just beginning to become friendly and I wasn't going to let her know I liked her new hairstyle. The times she does something different with her hair I just admire it even without knowing the name for that particular style. To me she just looks beautiful anyway. But now I sense the change in her hair has to do with something different.

She thinks I don't notice but I know she's sad. And letting her hair grow longer, and not wanting to go to the hair salon, or not wanting to go out except for the absolutely necessary like grocery shopping, are clear manifestations of that. Is not that she looks unkept, no, she has never. She's as beautiful as ever and her longer hair only accentuates that. But I guess having her younger son in a mental hospital indefinitely and not having spoken to her older one in months can have that effect on any mother. And Norma is not any mother. She was a mother utterly devoted to hers sons, especially Norman, and now he's not around. To make matters more difficult for her the times we've visited him at the hospital he's not really been there, he's physically there but something in his mind is lost, and that understandably makes her sad.

Often when she's doing the dishes I see her lost in thought and sometimes I hear or see her cry. And I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go, and protect her from all the sadness and evils in the world. I almost lost her to one, which scarily was her own son, and now she has to live with the knowledge of that.

At home nothing has changed for us really. She's talkative, she cleans, she cooks, she makes plans for the house and when I'm around, and on weekends, I help her with many different tasks like cleaning the attic; she decided to get rid of all the taxidermy animals and instruments and books. I planted those seeds for the fruit tress I promised her, and even tried to help once with the laundry but she screamed and laughed at the same time telling me to leave the laundry to her because my idea of mixing her fine underwear with my t-shirts or any other thing that was not, apparently, lace or satin, was a very horrid idea. So I let her do the laundry. She has always liked doing it anyway.

Four months after "the accident" as everybody calls it, everybody except me because I know better and I know it was Norman's doing, we've been trying to keep living our lives with some sense of normalcy. After Norma's stay in the hospital, and then her release from it days later only to have Norman committed to Pineview, I've tried to help her in any way I can. Although sometimes I don't know how or what else to do. I can't be the substitute for her son. But I keep trying. I do everything and anything to see her smile. One night I arrived from work and as a surprise I brought her favorite ice cream and she was as happy as a girl who just got told she can have the puppy she wants. She of course made us sundaes after dinner and we ate ice cream until our bellies were full.

I love sneaking up on her when she's folding laundry or cooking and put my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. She even laughs. She says that the stubble on my face tickles her. So sometimes I don't shave on purpose just so I can hear her laugh. It's gotten better with time. Four months ago she would cry every day and would eat very little. Now she eats normally and cries less and even sings. I've missed her singing.

But even in her sadness she has taken care of me. She loves to take care of people and not having her sons around only made it more difficult for her to feel useful. So I let her care for me in any way, shape or form she wants. She loves ironing my work shirts, even after I told her I could still take them to the cleaners but she said no, that she likes to do it herself. She offered to cut my hair and when I looked at her with a little bit of distrust she said she knew how to do it, and of course I let her. Have to admit it came out perfectly. I might never go back to my usual barber shop. Especially since feeling her soft hands on my scalp and neck is way better than the feel of the barber's.

In return I offer her massages; on her back and neck, on her feet, whenever she wants to. I tell her she needs to relax and she indulges me. I love touching her skin. One lazy Sunday afternoon we watched Out of Africa and after I saw how much she enjoyed a particular scene of the movie I said I would wash her hair for her. She laughed at first but said OK. That night I had one of the most erotic experiences of my life when not only she let me wash her hair, but also make love to her in the bathtub.

I don't comment on her longer hair anymore. But I revel in running my fingers through it every chance I get. There have been times when she has fallen asleep while I play with her longer locks. Some others when her beautiful longer hair serves as a veil on her face, tickling and caressing my chest, face and neck while she's the one straddling me and driving me crazy rocking and crashing her naked body to mine.

Four months later and she's getting emotionally stronger and better. I like to think I have something to do with it but I know she's stronger than any woman I have ever met. That after all she's been through she's still standing and I have nothing to do with it. At night when we cuddle up in bed and she looks me in the eyes, and I can see a mix of happiness and a little sadness in the deep blue sea of hers, and she tells me each and every night: "Thank you, Alex. I couldn't have made it without you. Thank you for everything you do for me. I love you." I know what the truth is. That I'm the one that couldn't, wouldn't, have made it without her.


End file.
